To Change What Will Be
by PrimeBlue
Summary: Voldemort was defeated, but time simply heralded in a new terror. Harry fought back, but it wasn't enough. When Harry stumbles upon a way to finally have a chance, he took it. Now, the fate of the world is in his hands. Maybe having his parents back in his life will help? Time Travel, Marauders.
1. The Chamber

**To Change What Will Be**

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, he is his own person. I don't believe in slavery. Take that J.K Rowling!

XxXxX

The hill was littered with boulders varying from the size of a dog to the size of a small house. The dried, brown grass of the area was clumped in certain areas and almost nonexistent in others. It looked as if some of the dead vegetation had been burned away, leaving only random smatterings of death. Apart from the grass, the only signs of life ever having inhabited the premise were the few roots from long dead trees and bushes. The vast countryside expanded in all directions, creating hundreds of replicas of this one hill. There was no life as far as the eye could see and the bleak wasteland reeked of death and decay.

Harry had been staring at this scene for close to three hours at this point. There was nothing at all to see and that frightened him. All his childhood memories, good and bad, were situated around this spot. And nothing was here. No signs were left to mark this clump of grass as being Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. No meticulously kept front lawn with an array of flowers and bushes. He wasn't sure whether to be sad or overjoyed.

On the one hand, he was free of his past. The Dursleys could no long haunt him. And yet, this spot was a reminder of the pain that Harry and everyone he knew had felt during the war. He didn't know what he was expecting when he came back to where he had called home for so long, but it wasn't this.

Voldemort was gone and the prophecy was fulfilled. So why wasn't it over? Harry just wanted all the pain to stop. All their faces flashed through his mind just as they did every night when he fell asleep. Fred's face, locked in laughter, which stared forward, unmoving. Remus and Tonks, the two that never got to meet their son. Snape, a righteous bastard that did everything he could for Harry. The faces never ended and they only tortured him more as he remembered them.

Everyone assumed that Voldemort was the key to victory. Cut off the head of the snake. But Harry knew better now and had experienced the consequences. England's leniency after the death of Voldemort led to its demise.

The Death Eaters had no plans to sit quietly and accept the punishment that the Ministry had planned for them. During the massive celebrations the Death Eaters made a massive strike on the Ministry and sent the whole of Magical Britain into turmoil. Perhaps it was worse that the Death Eaters lost all semblance of organization once Voldemort was dead because they attacked everywhere and everything without warning and without a plan. It was absolute destruction and death everywhere, and there was no appropriate response.

Harry hadn't been back to Privet Drive for years and he truly never wanted to have come back in the first place. Any memory of the place that could even be considered pleasant was tempered by memories of being chased into a tree by Marge's dog, Ripper, or of Harry Hunting with Dudley and his friends. The only reason he was here now was because there no longer was a Privet Drive. The only reason he knew where he was even standing was because of the last remnants of the blood wards that had protected him for 16 long years from any threat outside of own family.

That was something that Dumbledore never seemed to understand; while Harry had never been targeted by wizards with malevolent intentions, the protection could never stop the physical and emotional abuse that the Dursley's were so prone to heaping onto him. He never blamed the old man for that and he never would but there was still a pain and a seed of doubt focused on his old mentor whenever he thought of his past.

But the past should stay in the past. That was Harry's thought as he turned from his spot and walked away from what used to be his safe haven from pain and evil. He stepped off where his cupboard under the stairs once was and took a step. With a crack like a Muggle firecracker, he was gone.

Miles away and in another country, Harry snapped into place with a slightly less prevalent crack and finished stepping with his right foot onto a stone step leading up into the mountains. He stood about 150 meters above the valley that he could see far below him and to his sides he only saw the cold gray stone of the ragged peaks of the Swiss Alps.

The sky, as always, was painted a dark gray with harsh thunderclouds and a lack of sun lighting the landscape. The sight was a welcome one for Harry as it symbolized his new home. His new cupboard under the stairs. After a few more steps upward, the mountainside took over and Harry had no way of continuing upwards without climbing through the rough landscape of the mountains. There were many hand and footholds if he looked hard enough, but it was all sharp stone and it would be an unpleasant climb.

Staring forward as if there was no dilemma currently facing him, Harry calmly said, "The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare." As soon as the last syllable left his mouth and he grimaced at the memory of S.P.E.W., a whole new staircase opened up in front of him and invited him to continue to the peak. He stared for a few seconds at the long climb and the almost assuredly beautiful view that he would be granted at the top before sitting down on the step that he was standing on.

She always did like to make it a puzzle to make his way inside. After a decade of friendship, he would have thought she would be a little easier on him. He tilted his head back and forth, looking around at his surroundings, hoping that he wouldn't really have to climb up 500 meters to find his way in. The last time he did that he couldn't move his legs for a full day. After a minute, his sharp eyes caught a large gouge in a step a little ways above him. There was no way that could be there by accident when the whole construct was placed magically, so he made his way upward.

Once there, he traced his finger lightly through the scratch and felt a slight tingle like someone was tickling his finger with a feather. A moment later, the stairs beneath him disappeared and he fell through the gaping hole into a dark pit.

"Oomph," he gasped as he landed hard on something soft. Feeling around he felt what could only be thick vines moving around underneath him. Some of them grabbed hold of his legs and he almost had to laugh. 'Remain calm or cast a spell?' he thought to himself.

"Lumos Solem," he chanted as he held out a finger in front of him due to his wand currently being unavailable without upsetting the vines. He could have reached around into his pocket but for a spell as simple as the one he was currently casting, there was no need for such measures. A bright light burst from his fingertips and illuminated the cavern fully, leaving the vines to flee from the source as quickly as possible. With that, he dropped through the hole left by the plant and landed on his feet in the room underneath.

"If only Ron could have been as calm," a voice called out to him from his left, "or you, for that matter."

Harry chuckled and his slight smile grew as he remembered all those years ago. It was a quite apt description of Ron to think of his panicking face in the midst of the Devilsnare. No matter what logic or reasoning they heaped upon him, he always though with this heart first and foremost. Unless you counted his stomach.

"Merlin, I miss him so much. And he would be fuming that you would bring back something like this that would just remind him of how young and foolish he was." Harry's smile began to fade as he spoke, his eyes grew slightly grim but no tears threatened his eyes. He was long past tears. He had cried his share for all those who had passed on, including Ron. The ache in his chest may never stop but he wouldn't lower himself to tears for their sacrifices. They were worth so much more than drops of water rolling down his face.

Harry managed to crack a grin as his thoughts turned to the present. His gaze rested on the figure to his left. The tension left his body as he took in her bushy brown hair and intelligent eyes. She had grown so much since he first met her on the train. Back then she was so bookish and awkward but she grew into a beautiful, confident woman.

Hermione walked straight over to him and enveloped him in a hug. The embrace held so many feelings and transferred so many words that the two didn't even need to say. Hermione drew back slightly and both of them took the moment to stare into the others eyes, to appreciate that they were still alive and together. After a few moments, Hermione's eyes closed and she leaned in, touching her lips to Harry's.

It was just a few seconds, but Harry felt welcome and relief to be back. All the stress of the last few months faded with the ending of the kiss and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"It's been a long two months, Harry. Everything's almost ready on my end so I hope you found what you needed." Hermione grasped his hand lightly and began leading him through stone passageways and large caverns. Harry paid no mind to the passing settings, he was too enveloped in relief and happiness. He had been gone for two months, no one to talk to or to take comfort in. After Ron, Harry and Hermione only had each other to turn to. Soon that bond that had before been like brother and sister became something slightly more. It started slow, a kiss here and there, but both of them knew they needed exactly that and so it continued.

Just before he left two months ago their relationship had furthered to a more intimate point and it had been riding on the back of his mind for the entire trip. He hadn't wanted to leave. He knew he had to and had known for weeks, but the new development almost stopped him. Everything had begun more out of necessity for human comfort and they had no plans to go past that but love is a fickle beast.

At first, the guilt had been overwhelming. Harry felt as if he was betraying Ron by being with Hermione and he knew she felt the same. And so they never sought out more for the fear of the guilt becoming too overwhelming. This continued for so long, until the two of them were so pent up and so overcome by grief for the world around them that both knew they needed some sort of release. Having comforting arms to come back to every night granted both of them the peace of mind they needed to keep on living.

The room they walked into was a perfect mixture of chaos and order. To the casual observer, the clutter around the edges of the room and the apparently random scrawling that covered the floor and walls of the room would look to be in rampant disarray. To the more informed mind however, the so called "scrawling" told a story. A very long, very elaborate story. If one took the time to interpret the array of symbols that spanned the length of the room, well, they would most likely be quite lost. The mixture of symbols that found their roots in Nordic and Egyptian languages snaked along the floor, ending at Harry's feet, right in the center of the room.

The pale light of the room shined softly off his long hair. He brushed the bangs from the front of his face and his piercingly green eyes seemed to stare right through the walls. He looked down on the seal array and Hermione as she stepped forward to polish off the work they had started more than nine months ago. He towered over Hermione, something that he was quite proud of seeing as he was one of the shortest of his age just 4 years ago.

Harry knelt down beside a particularly complex formation of symbols and grumbled. He appeared to find something unsatisfactory with the carving in the stone floor. He delicately reached into his pocket and retrieved a chisel and small hammer before sighing. The chisel was set in place and the hammer was raised slightly above the tip before letting the hammer drop. The stone beneath the chisel broke apart and Harry stood again, satisfied with the correction.

He stood up once more before scanning the room, or more specifically, the runes decorating the stone. "Tedious," he sighed, before moving over a few steps and kneeling once more.

Before he could even set the chisel in place once more, Hermione walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You should take a break, you'll need all your energy for what's to come," she stated softy. "I can take over the rest of the work."

He glanced up at her with a soft smile gracing his lips. The smile was strained, he hadn't had enough cause to smile lately. Her bushy hair hung over her shoulders and brushed up against him, filling him once more with a feeling of content. Harry gave her a short embrace before swiftly leaving the room and making for fresh air. His long strides carried him rapidly through the stone halls and past the many doorways that led to empty rooms. He did not spare any glances to these rooms or his surroundings, his eyes glazed over in a daze. Everything was coming to a close. All his work would come to fruition.

As he stepped out of the stone fortress that held the work of the last few years, he gazed out on the desolate land that surrounded. When he walked out the entrance and through the heavy wards he could feel the lack of magic resonating through the air. The caves had been dug out during the outbreak of the war for a stronghold against the onslaught of enemy forces. The caves were fortunate enough, however, to never be targeted or even found. For that small mercy, he was grateful.

There wasn't much more to take solace in, however. He and Hermione were the last ones he knew that were still alive. He didn't doubt there were others but no one remained in the open after the Catastrophe. Two years. That is how long it has been since they had gone into hiding. And two years ago they still had Ron. They still had George, Neville and Luna.

They had lived through Voldemort and the war that continued even after his death. They had been so foolish. The Ministry declared the war over the moment that Voldemort's cold, dead body hit the ground. They always said cut off the head of the snake and the body would follow. Stupid wizards and their metaphors. Just because they were Slytherin didn't mean they fit the analogy.

The nation had been celebrating and that was when it was hit the hardest. Defenses were lowered and spirits were raised. God dammit, this isn't some kids novel where everything works out perfectly, this is life and shit happens.

With Lucius Malfoy at the head of the Death Eaters, striving for vengeance, the dark wizards struck fast and hard until the Ministry laid in ruins just a week later. Harry watched as it all happened from within the walls of Hogwarts. He had to watch helplessly as the nation crumpled and people he knew died.

The Death Eaters couldn't hold the advantage for long after the surprise attacks and so the nation's stability slowly began to rebuild. Hogwarts became the center of the government with Amelia Bones at the head of the effort. But this was not a time of great reform or a reign that stood for equality. It was a wartime government. Minister Bones focused all the nation's power into military, whether offensive or defensive, and began pushing back at the militants on all sides.

Harry's support gave the new Ministry legitimacy and the backing from the people that allowed it to continue to operate without succumbing to a lack of workers. His support even garnered the aid of multiple magical creatures. After Voldemort's demise, the giants, centaurs, merfolk and even a majority of the werewolves turned away from the Death Eaters. Some simply became neutral factions, such as the werewolves, while others completely changed sides.

Harry exhaled slowly as he leaned against the rough walls of the cave. They had turned the tides and come so close. He longed for those days back. The war was finally coming to a close and he could finally live his life again. He wouldn't have to face war and death. Somehow, so many of them had lived through all this war. Somehow, things would just go back to normal. But it had just gotten worse.

But those were unpleasant thoughts. He had enough of those whenever he closed his eyes to sleep at night. Here, with Hermione, this was his happy place. He pushed aside the thoughts running through his head and all the pain he had faced. Even these last few months while he was gone were brutal.

He brushed his unkempt hair out of his eyes and turned away from the landscape. He hoped to Merlin that he would never have to see it again. This ritual, nine months in the making, was finally coming to a close. Both he and Hermione would be able to see the world back as it should be or they would die. The process required everything to be exact. The costs, the preparation and the timing had to align just right so that all the magic set in motion could fulfill the ritual. 9 months, 16 days and 13 hours is how long it had been since they began carving runes and it would all finish in one more hour. The last rune would be sketched and the magic would take hold. He had truly arrived in the nick of time.

The door opened back up behind him. Hermione walked out and placed her hand on his shoulder. "It's time to start," she said as she lightly tugged to start leading him back through the caves. He knew the ways back perfectly but he let her guide him as his mind wondered and his hand gripped hers.

He took in even the walls of the caves as they walked through them. It was highly likely that he would never see them again either. In some ways he resented this stronghold for all it represented and in others he loved it for all the memories that it kept. Either way, he was eager to be gone, he couldn't stand remembering all the people he loved, and he abhorred everything that brought about the pain he went through.

The door to the ritual room was closed behind them and locked tight. There would be a heavy amount of magic in here and none could escape if they wanted everything to work correctly. Each and every rune had to be powered just so and a slight variance could over or under load a rune which could lead to death, or worse.

By this point, the runic array was complete and the magic in the room was beginning to funnel into the stone. All the magic in the area and the magic that the two of them had been feeding the runes were finally collecting in a cohesive fashion and emitting energy that made the area almost suffocating.

"I almost thought you wouldn't show," Hermione remarked as she stood in one of three spots in the room that wasn't covered in chicken scratch runes. "You never used to be so dramatic. The old Harry would have been here days, if not weeks, ago."

"What can I say? He was a hard man to find."

The grins fell from their faces seconds later as the light in the room began to grow dimmer. Hermione's brow furrowed in concern, "I thought we would have more time."

The light that emanated from the candles scattered around the room completely cut off and both of their eyes had to adjust to the faint light that came from the glow of magically charged runes. The light flowed from the start of the runes to the end like a wave with light growing and dimming from head to tail as if the magic was moving in a loop. Harry took in a breath and admired the beauty of it for a moment before narrowing his eyes in concentration.

"Well, at least we know it works," Harry commented as he began to channel his own magic, creating another source of light from the magic starting to swirl around him. They had both been constantly feeding the array with their own magic starting more than 9 months ago but it still wasn't satiated. He watched as Hermione's magic became visible as well before it got sucked down into the ground and walls.

The ritual would consume nearly the sum of both of their magic cores in order to take hold but once that was completed there wasn't much left to do but wait. If it weren't for the worry on both of their minds, the sight before them would have drawn their eyes like nothing else. Colors flashed and spirals of corporal energy whirled all around. The two stood in separate epicenters of the whirlwind of power and gained an almost divine look.

But the concern etched into their faces shattered that illusion. Harry and Hermione's thoughts were concentrated on both the success of the ritual and whether or not it could be completed before the danger that was currently outside their walls could reach them.

This last stronghold had survived for so long because it was unnoticeable. From the location to the protections, this fortress was hidden from prying eyes to the greatest extent possible. However, their greatest protection was the scarce use of magic.

Their enemies kept watch around the globe for them. They utilized both sensor equipment and patrolling troops almost constantly to catch them, to wait for their slip up. Well, this ritual was as good as sending a beacon straight into the air that attracted them like moths to a flame. Harry and Hermione knew this of course and that was why this cave system had been completely locked off from the world.

The oppressive magic that emanated from everyone associated with their foes threatened to flood through the tunnels and caves and everything grew darker as it began to take hold. It wouldn't be long now before the walls broke under oppressive force and they began to swarm in to find them.

Harry watched as Hermione's face took on a look of grim determination. Harry knew the feeling well and he began to grow comforted by the knowledge that he wasn't alone. He had worn that same expression many times throughout his life. Even during his Hogwarts years when he rushed headlong into danger to save his friends.

Harry stiffened in realization. His gaze focused sharply on Hermione and he shook his head, "No."

Was this how she always felt when she had to watch him plunge into battle without a care for his own safety? Each time he watched as a loved one was put in danger he couldn't stop himself from taking their place. 'I've been forcing everyone else to endure this?' he thought to himself as a crushing feeling of powerlessness burned in his chest.

"Harry, they found us too soon. We won't make it in time."

Harry opened his mouth to respond but only a strangled, choked noise came from his throat. He, of course, knew she was right. She was always right. He clenched his jaw tight to try to hold in his feelings and any other unwelcome sounds of sadness.

"Can't we just- I don't know… I never know what to do anymore."

"Stop it," Hermione commanded him. "We never would have made it this far without you, and we can't get any farther as well if you run off to sacrifice yourself. You can't keep doubting yourself."

"I can't do this without you!" He shouted. "You're the smart one. You always have a plan. Don't make me do this alone."

"Books. Books and cleverness. There are so many more important things, Harry. Friendship. Bravery. Everything that makes you who you are."

A small smile graced his features at that point. What she said brought back memories as far as their first year in school. Times when their biggest problems were a greasy haired Potions teacher and baby dragons.

"You never planned on coming with me, did you?"

Hermione's gaze dropped. Her hand reached up to timidly twirl her hair. One of her tells. When she looked back up, her eyes with glassy with unshed tears. A sad smile edged its way onto her face.

"No."

A resounding crash met their ears and the two of the looked off towards the origin. The outer walls would be broken any minute now. Then it was only a matter of time before their reached this inner room and began to break down their years of hard work.

Harry took one last look at Hermione before turning his head away. He didn't want to feel these emotions anymore. The only thing he had felt in so long was pain and loss and he didn't want any more of it. She was never supposed to leave him.

"Go," he managed to get out of his mouth. Teardrops fell slowly from his faced and splashed onto the ground beneath him. "Please, go."

He almost felt betrayed. The one person left, the one person he trusted beyond all else had tricked him so thoroughly. He _wanted_ to feel betrayed. But no matter how hard he focused on those feeling to try to make himself not miss her, he couldn't. He never could.

And try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from understanding her. 'How could I,' he thought, 'it's exactly what I would have done.'

Hermione's eyes shed her tears that she had so desperately been trying to force back. The guilt was overwhelming, but what was worse was watching his heart break and knowing this would be the last time they would ever see each other. She desperately wanted more time. She could have happily spent hours talking about nothing at all if it just meant that their time wasn't up.

This moment had always seemed so far away, so impossible. She never truly thought their time together would come to an end so abruptly. They were all the other had left, they had been for the last year, and she would miss him. He was her best friend, her brother and so much more.

The two looked at each other and saw the regret flashing through both their eyes. Hermione stepped forward and enveloped him in one last hug. As much as he wanted to shove her aside and take solace in himself, he hugged her back. Those few seconds of calm had them both breathing more evenly before they broke apart.

She looked him in the eye and said the last words she would ever say to him, "I believe in you Harry, I always have. Don't die on me."

He couldn't speak as he watched her slowly walk toward the door. He couldn't understand how she could just walk away like that without saying anything. In his head he knew she had to go but watching her stride slowly out the door without giving any closure was the hardest thing he ever had to endure. 

"Hermione," he uttered, making her turn around just at the door. A weak smile flitted onto his face and tears began building at the edge of his eyes. "Goodbye," he choked out, his breath coming in small gasps as he held back everything pent up inside.

Hermione's own lips curled up slightly and her eyes closed. There was some relief that he didn't hate her but most of her emotions were grief and pain.

Turning around to look at him made her decision for her and she suddenly leapt across the room back toward Harry and enveloped him in an enormous hug. After a few moments of reveling in the embrace, she drew her head back and stared Harry in the face.

Harry saw the raging emotions running through her eyes and knew his eyes displayed the same. He leaned forward with passion and pressed his own lips against hers. The two stayed locked together for a few moments, sharing feelings of joy, before once more separating from both the lip lock and the embrace.

"Goodbye, Harry," she said as she turned. He never saw the tears that began to fall from her face as she steadied herself and walked out the door. After approximately a decade together, their exchange conveyed so much more than words could have. As much as both of them never wanted the other to go, their goodbye was powerful and somehow calming. They were the introverts; Ron had always been the real talker in the Trio.

The door shut behind her with a sound of finality as the lock latched closed. It took a few moments for Harry to tear his gaze away from the door, and when he did, his look of resolve from earlier had faltered slightly. How could it not? He had never planned on the two of them being separated and she walked out at the last possible second.

Realistically, he knew it was the right choice. Not just because of the threat knocking at their door, but also because the ritual was that much more dangerous with two people to manage. The differing energies could be catastrophic but he had always thought they could work around that, put in the effort to eliminate that danger. But Harry didn't want to think logically at the moment, instead he wanted time to grieve. He hadn't had time to grieve in such a long time and now that he lost the last person he had a connection to, he wanted to take that time.

He had watched as people sacrificed themselves to save his life too many times. He didn't want that. He didn't want people to feel that strongly. Instead, he wanted to be that person, just once. To show his devotion and work to save someone else instead of being the one being saved. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Luna, Hermione. That's how they all went out and it left pangs of raw emotion running through him every time he thought about it.

What he was trying to accomplish now was his sacrifice. He would put himself at risk and in harm's way to save everyone else he cared about and stop the madness that had been plaguing him and everyone he loved for the last decade. He would have to do horrible things. But in the end, the one who suffered would be him, and no one else. He would make sure.

So with pain still on his face but his eyes relit with a small fire of determination, Harry straightened his back and breathed. As he breathed out, his eyes closed and focus enveloped every fiber of his being. His breathing remained steady and the world around him steadied with him. The light that glowed from out of the runes came back once more with a passion. The whirlwind that had surrounded both him and Hermione earlier now only had one epicenter and it was all that much more ferocious for it.

Yet even with the tumultuous atmosphere and wild magic surrounding him and buffeting at his clothes and body, Harry refused to waver or move in the slightest. The tempest picked up pace until it seemed to be a solid wall of light with projections of runes dancing across the surface. Harry's whole figure was blocked from sight except for in the eye of the storm, a small circle around Harry where one could close their eyes and never know what was happening just a foot in front of their face.

Runes with Nordic origins flowed across the room, intertwined perfectly with ancient Egyptian and Greek. Words of power that conveyed significance and _meaning_ with just a glance steadily wrapped through the room and moved closer and closer to the center. The walls and floor of the room were obstructed from view by the swirling magic but Harry knew that the projections of runes came straight from those surfaces and if he could see the walls, they would be completely clear of any and all marks. It would be like time had been reversed back to when the room was still unblemished by his and Hermione's carvings.

It only took moments for the ancient writings to converge on the center of the room, each and every mark in view of Harry's eye and each and every one of the marks completely understood by Harry's eye. The drifting lines of script forming a sequence that would lead to the completion of the ritual. And all it needed was one final push.

He gave one last thought to what was happening beyond the walls of this room and thought his last goodbye not only to Hermione but to this world. He reached deep within himself, to the center of himself, where his core of magic rested. He grabbed hold and _tore_ it out of himself.

There was pain, his whole world seemed to be comprised of pain, but it only lasted moment. As the magic from him fed into the runes in the air, the room brightened to a blinding glow and Harry slowly felt less and less pain. It was becoming harder to think, to feel and to be aware of anything.

Suddenly, everything went black. The lights were out. He felt like he was floating in an abyss. He couldn't feel his body nor could he think straight. He had no words to describe this out of body experience, for there was nothing to describe. There was nothing. Nothing except him.

Had he failed? This wasn't where he was supposed to be. 'Maybe this is death,' he thought to himself.

For some reason, he was fine with that thought. When he thought about failure, he always thought about what he would be leaving behind and what he couldn't fix. But this? This was calm. If this was the result of failure, he could handle this. Just let himself float away and forget about why he even tried to save the world in the first place.

And that was the thought he had just before he let himself go. His mind emptied and his thoughts stilled. He was being accepted into the nothingness that surrounded him. And everything stopped.

XxXxX

 _He couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene. Here and there he could pick out the faces of men and women that he once knew. Men and women that he fought alongside and considered friends. Teary eyes roved the mass of bodies, searching for something, anything, that could prove him wrong. It wasn't to be._

 _From behind he heard footsteps. Slowly, he turned his body to face the new arrival. "Come on," she urged, "There isn't much time."_

 _He sent one last, longing glance at the people he would never see again and walked away. Hand in hand with the woman, he tried to forget the carnage he left behind. The pair disappeared and all that was left was a field of broken, dead bodies._

XxXxX

He screamed but no sound was heard. The darkness around him faded slightly until he could think again. The deep well of pain and regret began to fade away as well as he realized it was just a memory. But as soon as he regained all control of his thoughts, he was flashed into darkness again.

XxXxX

 _Muggles always predicted that humans would bring about the end of the world. They just didn't realize how soon it would come to pass. Or how. It wasn't global warming or nuclear war that wreaked havoc across the globe, it was magic. Not long ago, any sane Muggle would dismiss that statement with a wave of a hand, but the last few years drastically changed that fact. The magic-less humans, the few that were still alive, were and have been in hiding from the devastation brought to the world by magic. Maybe they could rebuild this life-less world._

 _For the witches and wizards however, life no longer held any meaning. The planet was dying and in order to sustain itself, it began to draw away the magic that resided in its inhabitants. In other words, they were losing their magic._

XxXxX

For Harry, these unsolicited flashes of memories and fears from the past terrified him. It had been a long time since he had locked away these feelings, and he didn't understand why he couldn't control them anymore.

XxXxX

" _C'mon 'Mione, it'll all be alright. With the brightest witch of the generation, how couldn't it?"_

 _"Likely the only witch left in the generation at this point. Harry, why do we keep fighting? Every time we fight, more of our friends die. And for what? This silly experiment that we can't even get right? This hobby of ours that we don't even know is possible?"_

 _She braced herself against the cluttered table in front of her and her knees buckled. Tear drops slowly fell from her face and splattered against the cold, hard stone floor. She finally broke down sobbing as she cried, "Everyone's dead Harry! Everyone, except us."_

XxXxX

Harry clenched his teeth. If he could feel anything right now, if this oppressive darkness wasn't overwhelming him, he knew he would be crying. He hadn't cried in years. He had become so accustomed to the pain of loss that even the death of those closest to him wouldn't draw a tear from his eye. That isn't to say that he no longer felt pain over the loss, but he had simply become so well acquainted with suppressing his emotions that it was almost second nature.

Given all those reasons, Harry knew he shouldn't be crying, but he seemed to have no control over himself. It reminded him of his early years when he was dominated by his emotions. A true Gryffindor.

XxXxX

 _The room was cluttered with shelves and tables that were all stacked with piles of watches, clocks, timers and time turners. It was almost funny how little the world knew of time when almost every person carried a portable time machine on their wrist. Not the ones that control time, of course, but the ones that keep track of it. So reliant on time and yet so oblivious._

 _Finally, the work was over and the mystery was unraveled. He didn't quite understand the complexities but Hermione seemed overwhelmed with what she discovered. She could not control time, oh no, time isn't something controllable. It is a maelstrom of events and people that have no distinct place in the chaos except what people grant it. With this knowledge and more she was able to construct a runic array that snatched the event and person from that whirlwind of time and solidified it in magic._

 _They couldn't control time, but that didn't mean they couldn't use it._

XxXxX

'Is this death?' he wondered. 'Perhaps I am watching my life flashing before my eyes.' For Harry, it seemed the most rational conclusion. Once all his most tragic memories passed him by, he would pass on from the world.

'And perhaps it won't be so horrible,' he mused, 'to see them all again.'

XxXxX

 _He was curled up in the corner of the room, shaving violently and breathing harshly. He could hardly move a muscle and he was almost glad. His fear immobilized him, something that should terrify him but in an odd way, gave him comfort._

 _'Maybe I won't be able to get up. I won't have to go through with it. Everything is finally catching up with me, but just maybe I this won't ever come to pass.'_

 _His wet eyes stared into the distance trying to see something or someone not there. How desperately he wanted to see him but he knew that his peace wouldn't last. He had a job to do and he couldn't leave it be._

XxXxX

Harry was shaken from his previous line of thought as the trauma of his past came to haunt him. He was doing this for a reason. No matter the results of this ritual, he wouldn't give up. He had suffered far too much, as had all those around him, for him to simply accept that they had lost everything. He hardened himself and prepared for everything left he would have to relive before this experience came to a close.

XxXxX

 _There have always been theories about time. Some say it is like a river. Others say that there is not constant flow of time; it speeds up and slows down as it wishes and even changes speed just for certain people. And of course, there are those that speak about turning back time by flying around the world at faster than light speed._

 _It's scary how misunderstood time really is. Wizards think that they understand the concept, what with their time turners, but they have always looked through a microscope at the whole idea. They have never seen it in its entirety._

 _There is no simple explanation of time. No simple analogy to a river or to a loop or to whatever muggles and magicals alike have theorized. No, there is nothing that can be compared to it._

 _The easiest explanation is a hurricane or a maelstrom. If it was tangible, one could walk right out of Ancient Rome and step into World War II. Except, that's simply untrue. You can't see time and you can't just walk from era to era. The two time periods aren't side by side or concurrent, simply there. As if time has no order._

 _And that is why time is so complicated to explain. Because there is no comprehensible explanation. There is no pattern or way to follow it. Some events simply fade out of time and cannot be found. Imagine a porous box, filled with sand, being shaken around. Each grain is a time and is constantly moving in relation to other times but is never really related to any of them. And some events simply leave. They are no longer in the box._

 _That's scary. That a time can simply cease to exist. But what is scarier is that, without warning that grain of sand could reappear in the box._

 _Merlin, this is a horrible explanation. I'm getting a mental image of the concept from what I'm saying but it's nothing like the real thing. I'm simply going to stop here and say that nothing theorized before now encompasses time and nothing to come can even truly explain that mess. Excuse me while I hold my head to ease the headache I just induced. I have no clue how Hermione and I actually managed to get this to work._

XxXxX

Harry awoke to darkness. The feeling of floating through nothing was gone, now he was surrounded by what felt like wood and a horrible stench. He was laid out on his back with his arms at his sides. He tried to stretch his arms to feel out his surroundings, but a combination of the tight space and an intense fatigue in his limbs was hindering him. He struggled for a minute, his arms twitching and body trembling as he attempted to move himself.

He collapsed in exhaustion a moment later, but he had managed to feel the walls of where he was, and he wasn't happy. It hardly mattered that he could barely move, for there was no room to move anyway. Just centimeters to any side of him, and even right above him, was a hard surface. From what he could feel underneath him, it seemed like he was lying on a stretch of damp wood, and from the scent, it seemed as if it was rotting away.

He felt constrained where he was from the addition of the walls around him, the exhaustion in his body and what felt like a suffocating amount of weight being pushed down upon him. His breathing, already raspy and harsh, became deeper and more rapid. He was trying to suck air into his lungs but every breath felt so small. Memories came flashing from his past of the last time he had ever felt so cramped and powerless. Recollections of his uncle shoving him violently into his cupboard surfaced to the forefront of his mind and all coherent thoughts seemed to drift away.

No longer could Harry try to rationalize where he was or plan what he could do, rather, all he could think was that he must be back in his old bed, under the stairs. Nothing else made sense to him as his breathing grew heavier and heavier and his head grew lighter and lighter.

The inability to move and the claustrophobia combined to give him a feeling of helplessness that he had not felt in years. He had overcome such things, and yet, the emotions were always just buried away, never truly gone.

He felt desperate to curl up into a ball, to hide away from the memories that haunted him. His body twitched and struggled, but he couldn't control himself. His raspy breaths alternated with chocking sobs that overcame him.

And then, all of a sudden, he felt an intense pain shoot from his hand. The thoughts dulled in his mind as he realized he had stabbed his hand with a piece of broken wood he was lying upon. His senses came back to him, and while his breathing was still harsh and his thoughts were still heavy, he at least knew where he was.

Once he was capable of rational thought, he sought out his senses and felt around him. He knew he was surrounded by wood. He knew he could feel the dampness seeping into him. He knew he could smell a horrible stench emanating from all around. He knew he was hurt and could feel the sharp, stabbing pain in the palm of his hand

It took time, but his sense of awareness was righted once more, he realized he was where he needed to be. And while his body was weak, his mind was working and so was his magic.

He closed his eyes to the darkness around him, focused his mind and willed his magic to work. His journey here had exhausted him, but he hoped he had enough in him for this one act. He cleared his mind of all other thoughts and centered his thoughts on one thing, and one thing only.

Seconds may have gone by, or minutes, the length of time was unknown to him, but he was aware as soon as he succeeded. He felt the flow of his magic take hold and felt a sudden sickening sensation.

His frail body felt smashed into a tube and dragged from one end to another. But the horrific feeling was worth the result. Light clashed against his eyes painfully, but the feeling was almost heavenly. No longer was he enclosed in a tight, dark and damp space. Now, he could feel the sun beating upon his face and the grass underneath his back. A light, cool breeze tickled his skin as it flew by.

He opened his eyes and saw the sky above him. Bright blue with dainty clouds floating by. And a stone plaque at his head.

The plaque read,

 _Alan Vivas_

 _1960-1974_

 _Un hijo_ _cariñoso y amigo_ _enérgico_

Harry knew he was lying above the coffin of Alan Vivas. The now empty coffin. And he knew that it had worked.

 **Author's Note: Thanks for reading the first chapter of the story, the second should be following very soon. I hope to be able to get chapters out fairly quickly, but everyone knows that life is never that easy. I'm in college, so things always come up, whether distractions of actual work, and it's hard to stick to a schedule for something that isn't graded. Nonetheless, I'll try my hardest.**

 **I have written a few other stories, mostly on other accounts that I no longer feel proud of and have dropped, but this is my first Harry Potter one and I've put a lot of time planning and researching where this will go. That means I'm much more dedicated to finishing this story, and so I hope you all with stick with me as we go.**

 **Feel free to message me if you have questions, or even see some mistakes. Critique is never unwanted. That's all folks, PrimeBlue is rolling out.**


	2. A New Life

**To Change What Will Be**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But that is why I read Karl Marx- cause then we can all own everything together! (If only that was how communism worked).**

XxXxX

Harry woke up the next morning having slept at the headstone of the grave he had just been trapped in. His body still felt stiff and unresponsive, but less so than before. It seemed that resting for the night had done an unimaginable amount of good.

The sun was rising just above the horizon and the brilliant rays of light splashed across his face. It was a welcoming sight for someone who had to live so much of his last few years in hiding. He wasn't sure whether it was the light or the birds that were beginning to sing that woke him, but he absorbed the scene for a few minutes, nonetheless.

Eventually, he knew he would have to leave the area before anyone came by to visit the graveyard, but any sort of physical activity was aggravating. Every muscle felt on fire and his bones felt frail as paper. Not only that, his body felt awkward and he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. It would take a while for him to adjust to the changes and to be able to control his body completely.

It took time, but Harry managed to pull himself up and stand on his own. He began to gather his bearings and noticed that everything seemed larger than life, but he wasn't sure if that was just because of his state of mind. It wouldn't do to be caught here, so Harry stumbled toward the gate of the cemetery as fast as his injured body allowed.

With each step, he could feel a little more strength in his legs as his body became accustomed to the strain he was putting on it. By the time he had reached the gate, he could almost stand normally, though he still felt fatigued.

Once he reached the edge of the cemetery, he took the opportunity to look up at his surroundings beyond the gravestones that made up his immediate area. It seemed that he was standing in the outskirts of a small, quaint little town. There was a well-established dirt road leading from his feet, straight into the center of the buildings that stood half a kilometer in front of him. He could hear the faint noises of hammers clanging and people chattering, as well as a multitude of other sounds that were simply inherent to a town such as this.

His stomach rumbled loudly and his legs begged for reprieve, but even the sweet scents of food drifting from the town couldn't persuade him that entering the town as he was wouldn't be a dreadful idea. There was no way to go inconspicuous as he was, and although the amenities would be a godsend, he knew he couldn't take such as risk.

He dragged his eyes away from the sight of civilization and the scents of mouthwatering pastries, and instead focused on the sight of a lightly wooded forest that stretched before his eyes just a short distance away from himself and the town. It was with a heavy heart and an empty stomach that he began moving again, though this time it was toward the lush, green trees and promise of uncomfortable nights spent lying on the dirt.

It wasn't a far walk to the tree line, but his legs ached as if he had just completed a marathon. He tried to take comfort in the pain for it meant that at least he was alive. In addition, just an hour or two ago he couldn't even wiggle his toes. Of course, that did nothing to prevent him from collapsing against the nearest tree for support as soon as possible.

"Time for a breather," he told himself as he slid to the ground with his back against a tree. He was a little way into the woods, out of sight of the town, so he figured he could take a short nap and everything would be fine. His thoughts slowly drifted away as he closed his eyes and let himself rest.

XxXxX

He awoke to the sound of heavy banging and cracking branches. The noise startled him to his feet in an instant, he noted in the back of his head that he felt much stronger than before, and looked quickly at his surroundings. He prowled around slowly and quietly as his gaze swept through the nearby branches and around the thick tree trunks. After creeping forward for nearly a minute, Harry found what had created such a racket.

"¿No supongo que tu hijo quiere ayudar?" said a heavy-set man who was chopping away with an ax at a tree. He and the man next to him were dressed for the summer weather, but still had protective clothes on that would stop any flying chips of wood from digging into their skin. His light beard quivered as he spoke, and his whole body shook whenever his blade struck the wood.

"¡Ja!" the other man laughed, "Ricardo no hubiera trabajando por un día en su vida. Probablemente está emborrachándose en el pub." This man was much thinner than the first, but he was dressed in a similar choice of clothing. Neither of their outfits were particularly colorful, but they were made of rough leather than covered their arms and legs. The two continued to work, switching who used the ax so each could get a rest, and neither noticed Harry slinking away in the distance.

After a few interchanges of conversation, Harry had recognized the language as Spanish though the only words he recognized as they continued to speak were nonsensical without context. However, he wasn't too worried. They were simply a pair of lumberjacks stocking up on wood. He doubted they would venture too far into the woods which left him with plenty of space to set up camp and finish recuperating.

The sounds of the foreign language and the clatter of falling branches followed him as he moved quickly away from the woodcutters and further into the trees. As he moved, the trees he encountered grew older and larger, large enough to completely hide his body from sight which gave him some comfort in terms of how well he could hide out in the woods. He watching his footing carefully because of the treacherous terrain, littered with rocks and holes in the ground, but also because his full strength was still returning.

By the time he had moved at least three or four kilometers into the forest he decided that it was time to find a place to settle and gather his thoughts. No one even knew he was alive so he didn't have to worry about anyone trying to find him, and he doubted anyone from the town would wander out this far.

Harry scoped out the woods and saw a little clearing of trees that looked promising. He made his way over and immediately collapsed to the ground for a much-needed respite. The spot he had chosen was nothing special, just a small, open field where he could lie down comfortably. In fact, the diameter was hardly even 5 meters, but it would do. The ground was soft and covered in moss and the leaves spread far from their trunks so that they created a canopy that prevented too much light from reaching through.

Inside his body, Harry could feel his magic rushing rapidly all around, attempting to fix him up to a more reasonable degree. He could already feel his strength returning to him, but it would take another day or two before he could reasonable saw he was in peak shape again. Magic really was wonderful that way.

"It worked," he whispered under his breath. "Hermione, it worked."

Harry's eyes fluttered shut a few moments after his statement, but he had a look of contentment on his face and was experiencing the purest joy he had felt in a long time.

XxXxX

It was early morning when he woke again. The tip of the sun could be seen peeking through the thick canopy around him and the beginnings of bird songs were resonating through the air. They were sounds and sights he hadn't realized he missed so much until he had the opportunity to experience them once again.

The pain and trials of yesterday, at least he thought it was yesterday, were behind him. His heart was light with joy when he thought of what lay ahead of him. He saw the world, vibrant and beautiful, stretched as far as he could see all around. It was a sight he had not experienced in years.

His body felt refreshed and filled with energy, much apart from how he felt just before succumbing to his exhaustion. He gathered himself to his feet with sigh of contentment.

"If only Hermione could have been here to see this," he spoke aloud to himself. "It almost makes me forget about everything." Of course, what he had lived through wouldn't be so easy to fade from memory. Some traumas would never fade, but the life he saw all around encouraged him that maybe, just maybe, no one else would have to go through what he had.

Reminiscing brought out old memories, ones he thought he had buried within himself. Yet, these exact memories were ones he could never forget. Ones that chained him to the destiny he was following.

" _It is often, Harry, that to save that most dear to oneself, one must sacrifice that which is closest to one's heart. Look beyond yourself, young one. See the world as it could be and may be once more. It is for this that you must kill your heart."_

Harry shook his head. This wasn't the time for this. The voice of a long dead woman faded from his mind and he regained peace and quiet in his own thoughts. But he didn't forget the meaning behind those words. He had a task to fulfill, and he would let nothing stand in his way.

His feet crunched on the leaves beneath his feet as he strode through the woods once more, though this time, in the direction of the village. His stomach was growling and it was time he ate a full meal for the first time in a long while.

It was when he noticed that his movements were more constrained than usual that he realized what it was he was wearing. It was a dirt stained, worn out, tuxedo. He was clothed in formal wear from head to toe, including his feet, and it took him a moment to process that in his mind. He supposed he was too exhausted the other day to realize, but now, the fact almost surprised him.

"Huh," he grunted, "I can't believe I forgot about that." He couldn't help but feel embarrassed that something so vital had slipped his mind. He couldn't walk back into the town in a scrapped-up tuxedo. And even more than that, he couldn't walk back into the town wearing the former body of Alan Vivas.

That was a scary thought. He had known the plan for over a year, but to enact it was a separate matter. He was wearing the skin of a dead 14-year-old boy.

Harry, Hermione and Ron had spent years looking for a solution. They traveled the globe, found any witches and wizards that were still alive, and picked their minds. The lost library of Alexandria was found, along with countless other wonders. It was almost amazing what worldwide devastation could do.

It took years and dozens of dead ends. Slowly, everything was pieced together. Some in India, others in Romania, countless hints hidden across every continent. If Hermione had been lost, they would never have been able to create what they had.

They had all learned a lot during the war. Children had to grow up far too fast and become a part of the death and violence. Harry had always been under that pressure, but Hermione and Ron had only felt the collateral. But as soon as the war truly grew to unprecedented levels, they had never had to hold that burden.

They learned everything they could get their hands on. Anything, no matter how big or how small, could help them survive. Harry himself grew extraordinarily proficient in dueling with transfiguration, as well as Ancient Runes. For what they had to accomplish, there was no way he couldn't have.

Though Hermione was the driving force behind much of their accomplishments, not to mention the ritual that sent him where he currently was, Harry was also a vital component. The ritual that he had undergone was centered on time travel and possession.

Hermione provided the theory of magic that allowed him to travel back in time as well as to take control of a dead body, while he provided the technical knowledge in both runes and possession. Hermione had created the guide of an extremely intricate essay and gave Harry the steps to follow, while he knew the language as well as what needed to be corrected.

He had just experienced the culmination of a 9-month long ritual that incorporated some of the world's most complicated magic in ways that had only been theorized about before. He should feel elated, accomplished or at the very least, happy. Instead, he felt surprisingly hollow.

Perhaps it hadn't hit him yet that he had left his life behind. Or that he was walking around in what was, just a day ago, a month-old corpse. In all honestly however, he believed there was simply nothing to miss. Nothing to regret leaving behind.

He grimaced, 'except Hermione.' The image in his mind of her turning her back so he could survive would most likely haunt him for the foreseeable future. And yet, even with that thought in the forefront of his mind, Harry felt more carefree than he had in years. The sounds of life that filled the morning air in the woods reminded him of years gone by.

'Look at me,' he thought. 'I sound like an old man, reminiscing on the old days.' He pulled his thoughts back into the moment and looked around. He was approaching the edge of the woods and he could catch glimpses of the town through the trees.

Still in the funeral tuxedo, Harry began to undress from the formal wear. He took off the jacket, bowtie, vest and button down shirt, but left the plain white undershirt along with the pants and shoes. It wasn't fashionable, but at least it wasn't eye-catchingly out of place.

He ruffled up his hair and continued forward, growing more nervous by the second. How could he explain a 14-year-old boy coming back to life if anyone recognized him? Merlin, he had faced down worse challenges, but this simply went against his very morals. He had condemned Voldemort for his use of Inferi - was this so much better?

Shoving aside his philosophical quandaries for the moment, he calmed himself as he strode forward, steadily, toward the small town.

In reality, it was more of a village. And a small village at that. The buildings were made completely out of wood and the roads were a combination of dirt and gravel. From what he could see, there were around a hundred houses scattered around the open land in front of him. Above the roofs of these houses, Harry could see what looked like a church with its steeple rising more than two or three times the height of the small, one story, houses.

'This is going to be more difficult that I imagined,' he thought to himself as he realized that the residents most likely were not used to visitors and they all most likely knew each other. His one advantage, which he had thought a disadvantage at first, was that he didn't speak the language. He would be much more convincing if he couldn't even speak the only language Alan Vivas probably ever knew.

He could have cast a translation charm on himself, though doing so without a wand while in an unfamiliar body might have been difficult. His magic seemed sluggish in his body, most likely from a lack of experience in using it. Not only was he unused to his new body, Alan never finished puberty. Not being in a mature body dampened his magic and stopped everything from working as smoothly as possible. Puberty wasn't just for muggles.

There weren't many people outside at the moment, at least, not near him. There was a lot of agricultural land around the buildings and many the residents looked to be working at the moment. The few that were wandering near him gave him an odd look when they didn't recognize him, but a few continued to stare.

Deciding to take the initiative, Harry approached one of the men who was staring at him and asked, "Excuse me, is there a store in this town?"

The man stared back blankly, the look of concentration on his face dissolving into confusion. He was no longer wondering why the young boy looked so much like the deceased Alan Vivas and now was attempting to decipher what was just asked in a foreign language.

Broken English fell from the man's lips as he tried to communicate his lack of understanding. "No speaking English" was what Harry heard, though the extremely thick accent made understanding even that somewhat complicated.

Harry racked his brain for whatever Spanish he knew, little though it was. 'This would be so much easier with magic,' he once again thought.

"¿Tienda? ¿Comida?" he asked, rubbing his stomach at the same time, hoping the imagery would help his abysmal Spanish skills.

The man's mouth made the shape of an O as he understood. He babbled on a tad in Spanish before gesturing forward and to the left, pointing at a building that was obviously not a house. He seemed to have forgotten any suspicion he had previously had about Harry. Before the man could remember what questions he might have had, Harry darted away towards the building.

Harry brushed past the few other onlookers and made his way into the shop, desperate to get some food in his system. He grabbed a bottle of water and an enormous snack bar before moving to the counter. When he had searched his pockets earlier, he found some money, which is what he was using to pay. It seemed that the locals followed the custom of sending the dead to the afterlife with some money.

He got a strange look from the owner of the store, but the man made no move to stop or question him, so Harry moved along. It would not do to stay long in this town, not with everyone recognizing him, or at least seeing a resemblance to a boy that they knew had died months ago. Unfortunately, Harry didn't have enough strength yet to attempt wandless apparition and walking would drain him of any energy he had recovered from his night of sleep.

As he was planning on heading back into the trees to spend another day and night in relative safety and anonymity, he heard a yell come from his left. Down the street, a woman stood stock-still with a look of shock on her rapidly paling face. He hadn't quite made out what she had screamed, but he heard her the next time when the words came out in a choked sob.

"Alan?" she sobbed, as he legs began to shake violently. Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was speechless as she approached him, tears leaking down her face.

"Dios Mio, Alan, eres viva!" she cried as her arms encircled Harry in a crushing hug.

'Shit,' he thought, as the woman who must have been Alan Vivas' mother continued babbling into his shoulder in Spanish. 'Just what I wanted to avoid.'

XxXxX

It had taken close to an hour to reconcile the woman, as well as to convince her that he was, in fact, not her son. Yet, she still treated him with every kindness and Harry couldn't find it in him to refuse her. She must have been desperate for anything that could remind her of her son. Harry, in good conscience, couldn't say no when he was currently wearing the body of her child.

Guilt filled his whole body from the situation, both from what he was inflicting on the poor woman and also from the extreme moral conflict of what he and Hermione had achieved. Death was a sacred thing to wizards and cheating it was nearly blasphemy, though Harry was slightly removed from the idea due to his upbringing. Even so, The Tales of Beedle the Bard was the most well-known wizarding children's book for a reason. The Tale of Three Brothers taught the lesson that attempting to cheat Death never ends in success, a moral which motivated the stigmatism of Necromancy.

What Harry and Hermione had accomplished did just that. Cheated Death. He had sent his very essence back through time and possessed a dead body. Though his goal was not immortality, the concept itself was so utterly powerful that it terrified the both of them when they realized it was possible. A witch or wizard could use the ritual to send themselves back in time to a corpse and reanimate it with new life, removing any ailments the magical might have suffered from. Harry could send himself back one week to the body of a younger wizard, and have essentially added years to his life.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that these were not his goals, nor was the ritual feasible for others to perform, but the comfort he derived from such was only superficial. The special circumstances and objects necessary could be obtained, even if it would be nigh impossible without the correct sequence of events. Thus, Harry mostly attempted to ignore the potential repercussions and instead focus on what must be done.

This, of course, is why dealing with the mother of Alan Vivas was so frustrating to our, now young, wizarding friend. The silver lining was, at least she spoke English.

"Tell me, Harry, how did you come to such a small town?" Natalia Vivas asked Harry as she returned to the room with two cups of coffee.

"I have been backpacking around Spain for the last month," Harry replied with the answer he had conceived while waiting for the coffee. "I heard that there was a town nearby with the most incredible view of the ocean."

He reached forward for the cup of coffee, and took a sniff of the strong aroma. "But it seems like I should have come just for the coffee," he says as he takes a sip.

He hadn't had a good cup of coffee for a long time. Or tea, for that matter. Drinking Folgers instant coffee just wasn't the same as enjoying a fresh pot of authentic coffee.

"Oh, thank you," Natalia replied, "though the beans are not from around here." She put her own cup down and reached for a leather bound book lying on the coffee table. When she flipped open the front cover, Harry could see that it was full of photos of Alan and Natalia.

"Alan used to bring them home from his school," she continued, her finger tracing Alan's face in the pictures.

"Did he go to school far from here?" Harry questioned. He knew that Alan had been magical, but he knew nothing about his life, including what his mother knew about magic. She might be able to help him find the magical community in Spain.

Natalia hummed noncommittally as she continued to look through the album, occasionally looking up at Harry as if to compare his face to the ones in the photos. His face was slightly different than in the pictures: he had green eyes, darker hair, and a pesky scar on his forehead, but the resemblance was almost perfect.

As she opened the book to the next page, Harry caught a look at some of the pictures which seemed to be moving before she slammed the cover shut. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at him, wondering if he had noticed, and getting flustered as he continued staring at the leather cover. The moving pictures had answered his questions, to some degree. Natalia knew about the magical world and hopefully would help him.

"You never did say where Alan went to school," he said, trailing off at the end while shooting a suggestive look at the album. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but he couldn't afford to lose this opportunity.

She sighed. "I think you already know the answer to that question. Did you come here with that face just to torment me? To remind me of what your world has taken away from me? First I lost my husband to your world and now I've lost my only son. So tell me, what do you want?"

Her words were angry and full of pain, but her voice sounded tired. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to remind her of the past. This is what he was trying to avoid. But instead, he was inside with her, a cup of coffee in his hand and an angry mother at his front.

"I promise you ma'am, I didn't know. I never meant to hurt you, I didn't even know about you or Alan until I met you," he replied, mostly truthfully. Her face only twisted even more into a visage of pain as she clearly didn't believe him.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" she retorted, standing from her seat. Pent up frustration and anger seemed to be leaking out as she glared at Harry.

He sighed. "I suppose it would be hard to believe, what with how I look. I wish I didn't have to bring back these painful memories- I had no intention of this." His words began to become more hesitant as his situation became more futile. "Is there any way that- that is to say, how can I convince you? Please, just let me try."

She stared into his eyes for a few moments, before huffing and turning around. She walked back into her kitchen with her half-drunk cup of coffee, placing it into the sink. He took a sip of his own and made a face at the bitter taste. It had been a while.

When Natalia entered the sitting room once more, he didn't expect her to be calm. Yet, when she looked at him, there was a certain kindness in her eyes. As if she was seeing him as someone else, seeing him as a ghost from a better past.

"I always had a hard time staying mad at him," she admitted, taking a seat again, this time next to Harry. "He looks- looked- so much like his father." She shifted in her seat so that her body was facing Harry.

"How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking," he responded, almost immediately cringing when he realized how blunt the statement was.

Natalia's eyes almost immediately hardened.

"He was at school," she replied stiffly. "They never told me what happened." She didn't expand upon it any further and Harry was back to square one.

'I kind of deserve that,' he thought. "I'm sorry for brining that up- slip of the mouth."

"You people never think. You place children into danger, and ignore everyone who isn't one of you. It shouldn't surprise me that you don't care for emotions either."

Harry kept silent at that. It was true, no denying that. One only had to look at his own time in Hogwarts to understand. And while he almost wanted to respond to her jab at his emotions, there was no true anger behind it. Just long lasting pain from a missing child.

Natalia was the first to break the silence after a few long minutes. Her cup clanked in her hand as she stood once more. She took a few steps away, before turning back. It was a tight, controlled movement that stood out in the small room they sat in. The silence reigned for longer as her mouth opened and shut once, then twice. Finally, she spoke.

"I apologize, that was uncalled for. You're only a child. I shouldn't take out my frustration on you." She then hurried away into the kitchen where he could hear muffled sounds of dished being washed and sobs being silenced.

He had forgotten that he was in the body of a 14-year-old. He knew he was in the body of Natalia's son, but the fact that Alan Vivas had died at 14 had escaped Harry. That simply made the whole situation worse.

Harry was still seated on one of the couches when Natalia returned to the room. He wasn't sure how long he had sat there in silence, but the time had given both of them the much-needed respite from the tension.

Yet, he knew he was wearing out his welcome in Natalia's home. His appearance and words were drawing out the worst in her, and he knew he had no right to bring back sad memories. And so, he offered his condolences and moved toward the door, intent on leaving and never returning.

"Wait," Natalia called out. "Is there anything I can do for you before you leave?" She seemed desperate as she spoke, but Harry wasn't sure about what. "Money or food, to help you while you're traveling?"

"I really can't ask that from you, you have already been so kind," Harry replied. "I just need to find my way to Spain's magical region so I can find my way home."

"I can drive you there?" Natalie offered, hesitantly, as if she was uncertain if that was possible. "I'd offer you more but the only thing magical in this house is Alan's wand that I locked away."

"A wand is truthfully the only thing I need- I lost mine a few days back," Harry replied, not completely untruthfully. Alan's wand was a lot to ask for, but it would be compatible with Harry's new body. He just hoped the silent request wouldn't offend Natalia.

A conflicted look went over her face. From the conversation, she most likely despised having anything related to magic in her house, but on the other hand, it was a tie to her dead husband and son. Even if, to a muggle, it was just a straight stick with some feathers on the inside. It would be similar to a young child's art project- not perfect or even artistic at all, but a connection to them as they grow up, or in this case, pass away.

"I wish I could Harry, but I swore to myself that I would keep everything of theirs locked away, as a reminder," Natalia said, moving away toward the kitchen. "But, at least let me make you some food and pack some water- you have nothing on you and I know you can't use magic without a wand."

Harry gave some soft thanks as she disappeared into the back and he heard cupboards opening along with knives clinking. For a woman who had gone through the amount of trauma that Natalia had, he had no right to expect anything of her. Yet, she welcomed him into her home, even when she recognized his magic, and fed him from her own house. The only people who had truly ever been as kind to him were the Weasley family, but he didn't dare begin to make the comparisons between the beleaguered Natalia and Mrs. Weasley who had lost everything to the fighting that dominated her life.

When Natalia finally returned, she had a neat knapsack held in her arms. To an outsider, the scene looked like a mother sending her child off to school and to Natalia, the feeling was similar. By some miracle, she was able to see the face of her baby boy again and now she had to watch him leave after just getting him back. She knew she would never see Harry again.

She silently watched him leave.

XxXxX

It wasn't until Harry had walked two hours out of town, accepting that he would have to trek across the whole country, that he stopped to take a break and open the bag Natalia had given him. He had planned on grabbing the water for a quick refresher, but what he found inside was infinitely better. A long wooden box that could only be one thing.

Harry drew out Alan Vivas' wand with a smile and gave it a wave. A flurry of scarlet and gold sparks flew out and fluttered to the ground.

"Thanks mom"

XxXxX

When Harry apparated into the British Ministry's designated international apparition zone, a zone that forces international travelers to stop there, he was overwhelmed with senses of nostalgia and belonging, as well as a slight tinge of wrongness at how unfamiliar the Ministry of decades before him was. It wasn't the robes, no, that hadn't changed. Perhaps it was the lack of the statue in the center depicting a wizard with all sorts of magical creatures. Or the dim atmosphere pervading every inch of the room.

"Please procure valid identification and proceed to the antechamber on your right," an Auror said from uncomfortably close to him. The female Auror had her wand in her hand and was scrutinizing every person in the area as a threat.

Fortunately for Harry, he and Hermione had predicted this and Harry had gone to France where regulations were less strict due to the lack of the threat of a rising Dark Lord to obtain identification. In his robes, Harry had French papers listing him as Harry Granger, a recent orphan and emancipated minor. It was one simple document from a bygone era of peace when every detail didn't need to be scrutinized.

The process was slow and routine, as government is prone to be, and the only real concern was when Harry was asked about his education status.

"I was homeschooled for the last three years in France before- well, before I became an orphan."

"And why do you want to attend Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons? This is rather unusual especially for an unaccompanied minor."

"Well, technically I am emancipated" Harry clarified, though the immigration official didn't seem very satisfied by the answer. "And I couldn't get a scholarship for Beauxbatons, so I thought I would try at Hogwarts. My dad wasn't very rich."

"You do understand that if you are not accepted into Hogwarts either, we must deport you? An education visa will only go through if you are attending a school."

"Well, I guess it would be best to apply and get it over with as soon as possible. Can I take an acceptance test or something here?"

It must have looked odd to the official, that a 14-year old boy was acting so stoic and professional in the face of possible deportation after so recently losing his father. Yet, with all the raving loons who came through each day, one well-behaved kid was hardly on the top of their priority.

The government worker gave him an odd look, but stamped a paper and handed him a license that said "Provisionary Education Visa- Harry J. Granger."

"Head to the 3rd floor for the Department of Magical Education and I'll schedule an appointment for you. It might be a few hours. Good luck."

With that, the official called the next person in the queue and effectively dismissed Harry to enter the rest of the Ministry. 'Way too easy,' Harry thought to himself.

The large domed ceiling that stretched overhead was made to intimidate and show the presence of power and authority, but to Harry it captured the façade that the Ministry put on- pretending to be in control while serving as a puppet. Public servants milling around like ants in a hill, not knowing what-if any- greater purpose they were serving.

'It all could have been prevented if the Ministry had even been half-way competent,' Harry thought. His eyes took in the drab surroundings and bustling employees, attempting to find some contempt for the organization that had ruined not only his life, but the life of every living person on the planet-Muggle and Magical alike.

Yet, it was hard to hold a grudge to everyday workers who were just working to support themselves and their families. Instead, he felt overwhelmed and incredibly relieved at seeing actual living people. Not corpses or starving shells of people who had succumbed to the despair. Here was a place filled with people still filled with joy and hope. A joy and hope he could preserve at the cost of his own joy.

He set his mind on the task ahead of him. He had to get into Hogwarts first, then he could think about everything else that followed. His unfortunate duty to save the world.

The line for the elevator was crowded with messengers carrying letters and notes, very unlike Harry's time when enchanted paper airplanes flew messages all through the building. He assumed a Muggle would have to introduce that idea to them. When he looked up, he noticed that in addition to the manual delivery of notes, there were hundreds of owls flying overhead through the hallways and passages that ended in the Atrium he stood in. An unfortunate bloke in front of him was splattered with the remnants of one owl's meal, but the man only grimaced and cast a spell cleaning himself off. Business as usual it appeared.

When he finally pushed his way into an elevator, packed as tight as sardines, the metal contraption took off like the Knight Bus on steroids. Wizards have never really learned the idea of constraint, one of the consistencies between now and Harry's time.

Finally, after what seemed like 10 stops from the 1st to the 3rd floor (he wouldn't put it past the Ministry to put the 3rd floor in between the 16th floor and the 9th), he stepped out into an endless room full of cubicles as far as the eye could see. For such a poorly run school system, Britain had an awful lot of bureaucracy.

"Name," a grouchy old woman behind a receptionist desk croaked out, like nails over a chalkboard.

"Harry J. Granger," he said. It was a novelty to go unrecognized.

"Sit down. Your appointment is in an hour." So, 3 hours from now. Brilliant.

"Excuse me, ma'am, do you know what I have to do for this test?"

The glare she sent would have made McGonagall proud and Snape jealous. The utter silence was odd, given that the department was filled to the brim, yet the only thing Harry could focus on was the beady black eyes that seemed to question his very existence. He sat down as fast as possible with the thought that he would rather face Voldemort all over again then be in front of this old vulture for one more minute.

For three hours, he sat 10 feet in front of that woman, and for three hours she made no noise and made no moves, her eyes staring directly at him. For three hours, he was terrified for his life. For three hours, his instincts yelled at him that this old lady was a murderess in disguise.

When three hours rolled around, the clock behind the receptionist dinged and Harry nearly jumped out of his seat.

"Fucking finally, my back is stiff as Merlin's staff," the receptionist grumbled, a grin breaking out on her face as she stood up from the seat.

Harry could only watch in shock as she clocked out, waved her wand over herself to change her outfit from a grey, conservation uniform, into a tie-dye dress that made her look like a hippy.

"Well dear, it was a pleasure to meet you, but my shift is over and there is no bloody way I'm staying one second overtime. Toodle loo!"

Harry's mouth hung open by the jaw as the woman skipped out of the office singing to herself ~Off to the pub we go, we go, the pub is where we go~

Was that a flask in her hand- no, Harry must have just imagined it. The whole thing was a hallucination from the trauma of going back in time. Yes, put it out of his head.

He distracted himself with the woman walking down the aisle toward him. Was she getting any closer? The room was so indefinitely long that Harry couldn't tell if she had moved at all in the last 5 minutes she had been walking.

Eventually she seemed to realize that as well and she cupped her hands around her mouth, "Harry J. Granger, please come with me."

He looked at her in disbelief. While he had been watching her walk, he had counted some of the cubicles and there must have been over a thousand between him and her. Kilometers of dull, grey, boring cubicles. He would describe the room in others ways, but there was literally nothing else there.

With a sigh, he started walking.

"Bureaucracy."

XxXxX

When he finally settled into the testing room, he was surprised by the amount of character in the room. An enormous contrast between the department outside. If the number of odd trinkets and colorful decorations were any indication, Dumbledore had a large influence in the design. Scratch that, the jar of lemon drops in the middle of the table were enough confirmation.

It was a circular room with a wooden square table in the center. The table and chairs were the only plain items of decoration in the room. He saw tapestries of magical creatures, side tables with whirling devices, about 5 chandeliers that tangled with each other, and more that he couldn't identify.

Once he had taken it all in, his focus drifted to the woman sitting across from him. She was young, most likely in her mid-20's, but it was always difficult to tell with witches and wizards. She wore conservative, black, ministry robes that looked out of place on her small frame and with her blond hair hanging loosely past her shoulders. She sat patiently, with a smile on her face, as she let Harry take in the excessive decorations.

"Well then, if our Headmaster's vibrant decorations have stopped distracting you, we can get started," she said politely, nudging a pile of papers over towards Harry.

"I am Professor Silvia Sondheim, I teach Arithmancy at Hogwarts, and I will be conducting your entrance interview and test. The packets I handed you are condensed versions of the 3rd year end of term exams to test where we will be placing you. After you complete the written version, I will take you into the back room for practical tests," she said, pointing at a door behind her. "While I may not be a Charms or Transfigurations Master, I know enough to review your practical skills."

"After both the theoretical and the practical we will have a general interview just to see your fit at Hogwarts. If all goes well, you will know if you are accepted by the end of today." Professor Sondheim handed him a quill and inkpot, then sat back in her chair.

Harry, taking that as a sign of approval to begin, opened the packet.

 _What is the incantation and wand movement for the Disarming Spell?_

'This is going to be a long day,' Harry sighed.

XxXxX

After answering the last question about the Goblin Rebellion of 1453, Harry set down his quill and massaged his sore wrist. How was he expected to remember which goblin miner began Wizarding War II by stabbing the heir to the Black fortune? He learned that nearly 8 years ago, by his time.

He was confident enough that he passed most of the exam with flying colors though, enough to outweigh his lack of knowledge about Goblin Rebellions, especially once he got started on the practical portion of the exams. If only it hadn't taken almost 4 hours to get through the theory.

His only worry was, given that he lived in a practically post-apocalyptic world for years, the specifics of a spells to turn a tea cup into a hedgehog may be lost on him. Defense Against the Dark Arts would be a breeze, but the mind tends to forget non-essential information in life or death situations. Harry distinctly remembered some television program Dudley used to watch, "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?" that posed the same issue to grown adults.

"Done so soon, Harry?" Professor Sondheim asked as he closed the packet. "Most students take another 2 hours to finish the test."

"And I'm sure those students know something about Goblin Rebellions, so they spend time to write essays about them. France didn't teach the subject as in depth I suppose."

The Professor gave a small smile, "yes, Professor Binns is passionate about the subject. From what I gather, it's nearly all he teaches about."

The grimace Harry gave in response was one of experience and the Professor chuckled in good humor.

"Now, are you ready for 4 more hours of spells, potion making, and star gazing? Because the practical exam is already prepared."

"Best to get it over with, lead the way."

XxXxX

When the practical exam came to an end, Harry's arms were sore from the never-ending potion making process and wand waving that took even longer than the theoretical portion, as impossible as it seemed. Harry walked back into the original room with a throbbing headache and sat back down in his chair. The fact that most of the test was easy just made the process even more mind-numbingly boring.

Professor Sondheim still had a smile on her face and looked fresh as a daisy, making Harry even more irritated at the process. His brain was wired for combat, to live every day in stressful situation and school testing was out of his comfort zone. For the first time, Harry realized that going back to school wouldn't be as simple as he thought.

Cutting off Harry's thoughts, the Professor said, "Well Harry, I've been very impressed by how you have done so far. Are you ready for the interview? It shouldn't be long, it's just a few questions to get to know you."

"It can't be any harder than the actual test."

"I would hope not. Why don't you start off by telling me why you decided to come to Hogwarts rather than Beauxbatons or any other school of magic in Europe?"

'To stop everyone from dying,' he thought, short and sweet. "Once my dad died, I didn't want to stay in France anymore, and Hogwarts was the next closest school- not to mention it takes a lot of transfer students compared to Durmstrang or Liverpool," was what he actually replied. "My dad always said my mom went to Hogwarts as well, though I never knew her. Maybe this will be a way to feel closer to her now that I don't have any parents."

"I'm sorry if that question got too sensitive, but thank you for answering honestly. Were you homeschooled completely by your father?"

'I've already graduated Hogwarts actually, and been personally tutored by the most powerful witches and wizards in the world,' he thought in his head. "Yes, he wasn't the most skilled but he worked on creating new spells and magical items, so he knew a lot about theory and more than enough to teach me for a few years. Less about history and more about spells, but still enough to be on track I would hope."

"I can't argue with that after watching your practical. You aced just about every spell I asked, and even some extra point questions that I threw in to sate my curiosity. In fact, if it wasn't for your practical, you might have been able to skip to your OWL year," the professor said, leaning forward to whisper as if she was revealing a great conspiracy. The way her eyes narrowed as she said it made Harry realize that it was more than a passing joke, it was a question meant to trip him up. Homeschooled students weren't usually more skilled than their professionally trained counterparts.

'Shite, this is not good. I didn't even realize some of the spells were meant to be more difficult,' he thought once more, consciously keeping himself steady under Professor Sondheim's gaze. His somewhat respectable Occlumency shields went up and he responded, "my dad had me start learning magic at 10 because France had less strict laws, and with his focus on spells, I guess that's not too surprising. But I wouldn't want to be placed ahead, I'm already small for my age- it would be worse if I was a year above me age."

"Your dad sounds like he took your education very seriously for having you homeschooled. Why didn't he send you to an established school, if you don't mind me asking," the Professor continued, still looking very curious about Harry.

'Because my whole story is a lie, that's why," Harry once again thought sarcastically in his head. It would be disastrous if Sondheim knew enough Legilimency to understand his thoughts, but he didn't feel any probes into his head from the diminutive professor. "He didn't trust the school systems, too little care for safety he said. Hogwarts, for one, has the Forbidden Forest that students love to explore freely. My dad was a little overprotective after losing mom."

"Understandable," she looked a little more convinced, but it was more likely that she felt bad questioning a 14-year-old who had just lost his father. Sympathy can take you a long way toward being judged as not suspicious. "Then I only have one more question for you; What are your goals for the future? There are no right or wrong answers, I just want to get to know you a little better. After all, if you get in to Hogwarts, I am the counselor for all transfer students."

'My goal for the future is to ensure that there is a future. A goal that requires me to be at Hogwarts, but that's slightly morbid for a teenager,' he once again thought to himself. "Someday I want to remake my dad's business. He owned a small shop selling the magical items he made, and he would let me run the store sometimes. If I can learn to be as good as him, I think I would like that life. It isn't much, but what kid doesn't aspire to be like their dad?"

This time, the smile on the Professor's face was genuine and matched the bright smile on Harry's own face. The suspicion was wiped away by the pure childhood happiness and hope that Harry put into his voice- a hope that he had cultivated over years of desolation. The same hope that still fueled his Patronus to this day.

"I won't know for sure for a few hours, but I am fairly confident in saying that I will be seeing you at Hogwarts in a months' time. Congratulations Harry Granger. I'm sure your father would be proud."

XxXxX

 **A/N: Hey everyone, hope you enjoyed this chapter. I struggled a lot on how to write the test and interview section, so please review with your thoughts. Was it too much detail, too little, or just the right amount?**

 **Any feedback is always appreciated, and if you liked the story make sure to let me know! It's what keeps me motivated to keep writing and posting on the site. I'm still a new author and I expect mistakes, but the only way to improve is to know about those mistakes. So please review and look forward to the next chapter.**


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